My Hours At Arlington

When I went to Arlington National Cemetery with my school, people were not respectful of the servicemen who had died, or the guards who worked there,and endured much sacrifice as guards. It was as if no one cared. And that broke my heart.

All of those names, All of those faces That I can just picture As they run past me on a bloody battlefield Or crawl between tall grasses on enemy lines.

They lurk beneath the ground all over And I stand there and wonder, and wonder, and wonder, How people look and stare all day At those names on the gravestones But not taking it in, at all, in any way.

Meanwhile, I stood there, with a solemn expression, Half of me listening to the tour guide, The other half in pain. All those soldiers who died, and all of those now fighting They deserved our attention, our grievance.

But most did not listen To the silent whispers of prayer and mourning. I heard talk of a mall, a rumor, and when we were eating lunch.

However, I never heard a single: “Look at all of those gravestones. Every single one has a person under it.” Most were bored, and careless. However, those people, my friends: They are the ones with nothing to gain.

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